Caring is Not An Advantage
by burntheheart
Summary: Spoilers!01x02!oneshot. Mycroft thinks about the concept of caring as he makes a thoughtful decision.


**Caring is Not an Advantage**

* * *

><p>'You're certain this time.'<p>

'_Positive._'

'Poor soul,' He murmured, clicking his tongue as he added a monotonous, 'Very well.'

The man's voice was clipped and hoarse as he breathed favourably. 'Goodbye.' The dead sound of the phone line echoed through his ears as his eyes travelled distractedly towards the window where raindrops slid past, streaking wet trails across the glass. He approached the glass window wearily, allowing for the mobile phone to skim towards the large chestnut desk from his fingertips. It was time to think and ponder. His small grey eyes were still as his hands clasped together, a semblance to an inanimate figurine.

Miserably, his thoughts were unhelpful as he dwelled on the situation. It was certain that in some occasions, there was little that one could do but lie. For example when his brother had been young, he had told him that their father had gone to heaven even though he had known that his father's body was – as they spoke - decaying in a furnace, skin shrivelling into worthless ash. It had been the immoral thing to do. However, the very concept of the death of a loved one had never crossed his brother's mind well. _Even to this day, _his mind added cleanly.

The little boy had believed his story of heaven despite having no religious intuitions. It had been an escape for him – the boy who still played pirates and cannons for hours on end. The incorruptibility of childhood remained conserved until that one, rainy day when –

'Sir?'

'Yes.' His eyes remained faithfully obedient to the rain as he heard the soft, click of heels behind him.'

'I've got the morning papers.'

'Thank you.'

'Do you need anything else?' His assistant's voice was tentative as she eyed him.

'No, that is all.' He dismissed courteously, cold vapours hazing the clear barricade of the glass.

It had been a day like this when the young boy grew up and was told of the bitter truth of their father's fatal demise. The man was sure that it had been the last day he had ever seen the boy pick up a stick and use it as an imaginary weapon. The last time he could have regarded the plucky, curly haired boy a child. It had been the miasma of lies that had killed his faith in family; equally it had been death that had divided him from the world that lived around him.

He had never meant for that to happen. But, the road to hell was paved with good intentions, as they say. It had broken his heart for he had never intended for the young boy to grow up so quickly. The swift maturity came with a price. His emotions were vulnerable. His heart, _brick. _His faith in the world missing. His care for most, vanished. His care for _himself_ most importantly, vanished.

It was what had caused for the younger man to absorb that first aroma of seduction. The smell of hell itself, disguised as an irrevocable escape for the eternally troubled. He had seen the young boy suffer – for he would always be the young boy. The decade of reckless pillage, the sleepless nights of missed calls – the crumbling foundation of the relationship they had today. It pained the man to even remember it.

But he does remember. Everyday, he remembers.

'Actually,' he turned away from the rain, unfolding his hands, 'I do have something – I must dig up some old files. Get me-'

'I am on the phone!' his assistant answered with a small wink.

'Thank you.' The man turned back to the rainy backdrop then glanced at his phone weakly where he expressed a long, muted sigh.

It was wrong to lie. He should have learnt. From his line of work, honesty was very rare to come by but he had always stayed proper. He_ should_, stay proper.

But he saw a glimpse of the young boy recently - a glimpse of the shattered chasm that dwelled within his brother's head. And his principles and philosophies were different for the younger man. It did not matter in his mind how worthless _the woman_ was to him and how little it burdened him if he were to ignore the call. She was something.

He barely knew her. And yet - _something. _

The man's fingers glided over the surface of his old desk and devotedly paused at a corner. They travelled downwards and pulled at the handle of a drawer. Inside was a bleak, ruffle of papers and candy wrappers that he never bothered to empty. However, deep beneath at the bottom was one photograph. It was sealed in a white envelope, accompanied with a letter (scribed in a childhood language only two people in the universe are fluent of) and addressed to a single recipient.

The last time his eyes saw the photograph was when he had sealed it inside for he remembered the image vividly. Equipped with a mental talent, he remembered most things vividly but this one was special. _Unique_, even. It was the only photograph that existed of the Holmes' family together and had been taken when the youngest of the brothers had only been a few weeks old. It was old, crumpled but when their old house had been sold, he had torn it out of the purposeless family album.

He kept it for their family's sake. In his forties, family sentiment was probably on its dire knees however the photograph was important. It reminded him of many things and many memories but most importantly reminded him of the young, grey eyed pirate he had grown to love (and on occasion, hate) unconditionally.

It reminded him that no matter how difficult, how insufferable and how cataclysmic the situation – he must _always _care.

Even if it meant that he had to break his principles and shatter the wall he had learnt to build whenever his younger brother _spoke_.

The man pressed his lips thinly and retrieved his umbrella which leaned comfortably on the side of his chair. He closed the drawer with an almost inaudible _click._

_Now, to Baker Street. _A short, tired sigh escaped the man's lips as he shook his head faintly. Oh. If only Sherlock Holmes knew where he would be if his dear, older brother had cared less.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Based on 01x02. Oh, it was amazing wasn't it? I am a little bit speechless. Anyway, I loved the brotherly exchanges in this episode so much that I will probably release another oneshot about it. Thanks for reading. Happy 2012 and huzzah for series 2!**


End file.
